


I will lift you up (the air in your lungs)

by blackkat



Series: Horoscope Drabbles [3]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, M/M, Spirits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 15:23:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17246633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: “We’re supposed to be here,” Izuna says, ragged, and slides down the wall to slump on the floor. The bandage wrapped around his eyes is stark white in the gloom, and he has a hand pressed to his side where Tobirama drove his sword through his side.Itama can feel the ache of a dozen weapons stabbing through his chest, and he has to look away.





	I will lift you up (the air in your lungs)

**Author's Note:**

> For a prompt taken from Normal Horoscopes on Tumblr:
> 
> Capricorn. A temple to be sure. To what or who has been lost to time. Crumbling effigies adorn the walls. You are not the last.

Itama has never seen anything like it.

With careful fingers, he traces the reliefs in the walls, the inlaid feathers of winged creatures taking flight, and he can feel them somewhere deep in his chest, the rush of a fall and the glory of wings catching the air, the elation of rising. Like a bird, and he’s never even stood near a cliff before, _can't_ know the feeling, and yet—

Here, in the middle of a temple so ancient all memory of it has been lost, he feels perfect, unnervingly at home.

“We’re supposed to be here,” Izuna says, ragged, and slides down the wall to slump on the floor. The bandage wrapped around his eyes is stark white in the gloom, and he has a hand pressed to his side where Tobirama drove his sword through his side.

Itama can feel the ache of a dozen weapons stabbing through his chest, and he has to look away.

“Where is _here_ , though?” he asks, because he remembers death, remembers a funeral, and now he’s grown, brought back, returned to a body that feels familiar but shouldn’t.

Izuna's laughter is ragged, and he lets his head fall back. “Why are you asking _me_?” he demands, and waves a hand at his covered eyes. “It feels—it feels like a storm, though.”

Itama glances out through the wide arches that crown the cliff, and the sight of the earth falling away into a sheer drop should be unnerving but it just feels like temptation instead. The sky is blue beyond, but there's a band of clouds on the horizon that are stained with color by the setting sun, and they're moving quickly.

“Soon, I think,” he says, uncertain, and steels himself to cross to Izuna's side, leaving the crumbling carvings behind. “Are you all right?”

“A Senju asking me that, after Tobirama killed me,” Izuna mocks, bitter. “What’s the world coming to?”

Irritation doesn’t come to Itama nearly as easily as it does his older brother, but he still rolls his eyes. “Me asking an Uchiha that, after a whole squad of them murdered me,” he retorts. “What’s the world coming to?”

Izuna pauses, like he’s been caught off guard. Then, slowly, he reaches out, and with a faint frown he touches Itama's cheek, traces around his eye, touches the fall of his hair. “A whole squad?” he asks. “You were a messenger?”

“A child,” Itama says softly, and Izuna's expression twists.

“Oh,” he says, and pulls his hand back. Laughs, though there's nothing of humor in it. “The one good thing Hashirama managed to do was stop the hunting squads.”

“Madara too,” Itama agrees, and glances out at the fast-approaching clouds again. “There were stairs to the upper level a ways back. I think—I think we need to find the main chamber.”

Izuna hesitates for a moment, then nods once, grimly. “Something brought us here for a reason,” he says, and holds out a hand. “You're going to need to help me. My body still hasn’t been convinced it’s not dying.”

That startles a laugh out of Itama, and he takes Izuna's hand willingly, helps pull him back to his feet. When Izuna curls an arm over his shoulders to steady himself, he even manages not to flinch. “Do you think we’re ghosts?” he asks.

There's a long second of silence as Izuna turns the question over. Then, carefully, he shakes his head. “Spirits,” he says. “I feel…like a storm.”

Itama looks one more time to the open air, the call of that long drop, the promise of the feathers he can feel beneath his skin. “You’re right,” he says. “I feel like a bird.”

“Well, you're as small as one,” Izuna says airily. “Look at you, you don’t even make a good crutch, you're just too short—”

Itama might have been the crybaby of his family, but he was the second-youngest of four brothers, too. With practiced precision, he stomps down hard on Izuna's toes, and Izuna yelps.

“Ow, _hey_ , I am _blind_ you vicious little monster—”

“Oh, sorry,” Itama says sweetly. “I can't hear you from all the way up there. Did you say something?”

Izuna is laughing through his snarl, so Itama counts it as a win.


End file.
